Find Me
by twowritehands
Summary: Eames loses his 'cookie' at the disco. Almost a crackfic. Eames and Robert established relationship fluff piece from a Meme Kink Prompt. LONGER THAN THE FILL ON THE MEME :


Just a quick little something written to fill an inception meme kink:

_Eames loses his cookie at the disco_

The lights were sweeping over a crowd of roving bodies. Everywhere you looked, things were glittering (earrings, silk shirts, headbands, medallions, disco balls) and people were smiling, sweating and moving to the music. Eames felt himself slipping into that suspended place between more alive than ever and passed out. The disco was a secret thrill of his; he loved submerging himself in a culture forty years gone but heaped in sex, drugs, and a good time. Eames belonged here, where the loud boogie music enveloped him, drowning out everything so that all that was left to do was move in time to it with the strangers around him.

He wasn't alone with strangers tonight, though. Tonight, he was sharing this with the most beautiful thing that he'd ever called his. Eyes sapphire blue in the light but dark and deep as the ocean in low lighting, angled cheekbones, and a soft mouth rimmed with light pink lips, Robert was without a doubt physically beautiful, but he was more than that; his assets were more than a slim figure and strong jawline, deeper than baby-smooth milky white skin.

One example of his inner radiance: tonight, his usual pristine Armani suit was replaced with a shiny polyester shirt that was framing his gaunt features with a high pointy collar and which was opened revealing his bare chest. He'd never danced disco before in his life, but he'd agreed to step out of his comfort zone, to come here, to dress like this and try it: for Eames. He'd picked up the steps to The Hustle in hardly any time at all and then he was beaming, laughing and dancing, dancing with Eames at the disco.

Stopping to catch their breath and have some drinks, Eames pinned him to the bar, touching what he could see of Robert's chest and having a taste of his smile, then a sample series of tastes along his jaw. He stopped at the ear, where his proposition had to be shouted to be heard over the music, which was so loud that the offer remained private between them.

He was thrilled by the seductive arch in Robert's eyebrow, his devilish grin. His perfectly enticing lips formed the shapes of _come on_ and he tugged on Eames' hand, pulling him off into the corners of the room. Eames went happily, heart racing faster than dancing had ever gotten it. The thoughts of the things Robert liked to do to him always made his pulse get going like this.

Plush-cushioned booths waited for them behind curtains of sheer fabric. Projections cleared space for them at Robert's behest, and they half-sat, half-tumbled into the booth. Eames attached his lips to Robert's neck, adjusting his position until he was pressing the smaller frame into the cushions.

Exactly what he wanted to do was revealing itself in his projections nearby and he hoped they would inspire Robert to accept the offer of his caresses; but after only the bare minimum of the proper appendages touching, a new song came on and Robert laughed merrily, wriggled away and leapt up with new energy. He pulled Eames toward the dance floor.

"No, Cookie!" Eames begged trying to stay him, but Robert was much stronger than he looked. He freed himself easily and laughed, shouted, breathless with exertion and arousal, "Later!" he promised, "I want to dance!"

Caving because it was just too much fun seeing Robert let loose just then with some robot moves and a big dopey grin on his face, Eames let him go. He didn't join him though, preferring to sit back and watch. One thing he was always happy to do was watch the man he loved.

As Robert danced, Eames let his fantasies run wild and it showed in those nearby projections. Glancing over at them, he found that one of them looked a lot like Robert and by the time he finally tore his gaze from the enticing scene, he found the real Robert—-his Robert-—gone.

Where did he go?

Climbing out of the booth, Eames danced through the crowd in search of his favorite shape in the world. He wasn't alarmed that Robert had slipped away, he'd dreamed up a heavy throng of jiving cool cats all of which were friendly and happy to rub up against each other for hours; it'd be just like Robert to be making friends with them off in the many corners, extracting Eames' secrets right out of his partying sub conscious.

Eames couldn't kill a wide smile, and he laughed from his gut at the thought. _God_ he wanted to put his arms around that man. As he danced around hoping to bump into him, random facets of his own mind swooped in to kiss his neck or reached out to pinch his well-displayed-in-lycra ass. (His own mind was hitting on him; Eames was a big fan of himself.)

Something occurred to him after he'd made one revolution around the dance floor without seeing a single glimpse of Robert, and so he headed straight for the bathrooms with a thrumming heart. There was only one reason he put public bathrooms in a dream: Robert had a thing about being caught in them. And Eames' lower stomach ached with his immediate assumption that he'd find Robert waiting for him there.

Through a burnt orange swinging door, that had a little silhouette of a man in roller skates in the middle, was a very clean restroom with three stalls, two sinks, and a lot of mirrors. Eames was cut off from the party when the door closed behind him.

He knew immediately that Robert wasn't in any of the stalls; the faucet of one sink was running full blast, steam from the hot water rising up to fog the mirror above it. There was a message there on the reflective glass- _find me and you can have me_.

Grinning, Eames traced the h of _have_ and let scenarios play out in his mind's eye. Catching Robert on the dance floor, pinning him to the wall-or no, putting the bar to better use than a drink shelf, sucking alcohol from Robert's skin, or better yet getting tangled with him in those gossamer curtains and pulling them down with him as they tumble backward onto the cushions. A shudder rolled through Eames as he practically felt the fabric sliding over his skin, tickling as it was pulled from between their meshed bodies…

Like a kid who finally counted to a hundred in hide and seek, Eames darted out of the restroom. He craned over the hats and headbands, but the crowd was moving too much in the colorful sweeping lights. It was like trying to keep his eye on one jellybean as hundreds were rolled around in a barrel.

Eames closed his eyes and made the upbeat tune fade at an appropriate place into a slow dance. Projections paired up and swayed in time to the music. Eames swore he could feel Robert's hand on his sides, holding onto him with their foreheads together… With the projections considerably tamed, it was easy to search the crowd. But he had no luck there.

He thought for sure he'd find him in the hidden loop that connected the exit of this place with the entrance. But, alas, no slightly sweaty, panting, smiling Robert awaited him inside the paradox.

Put out by this fail, Eames took a moment to lean on the wall and curse. _Where are you_? His whole body was on edge, longing for the feel of Robert. His eyes dropped closed with the memory of Robert straddling him, sucking on his tongue, blunt nails combing through his hair.

Grumbling in frustration because, dammit, Eames wanted his lover _now_, the dreamer charged out of the paradox back into the slow-dancing room and over to the disc jockey where he rudely disrupted the needle. The music screeched and died and the crowd stopped, turned with boos and hisses.

"Coookieee?" Eames sang playfully into the sudden silence. He was standing up on the podium. His eyes swept over the crowd that was now looking up at him as if he were a lunatic and grumpily demanding each other to take care of this fool so they could go back to boogying. Eames ignored it all, studying them closely; it was highly likely that Robert had learned face forgery just from watching Eames do it. (He occasionally changed his appearance in their private dreams to fulfill some of their fantasies and Robert was an astute learner like that.)

What answered his teasing call was very distinctly Robert's thrilled laugh. It echoed all around, booming mirth from the sky. The projections frowned, craning their necks around as if looking for speakers on the ceiling. The lights came on properly. Eames laughed, understanding now, and manifested a gun from his under his belt.

He felt Robert's open-mouthed kiss on the skin of his chest and the metal of the gun was cool when he pressed it there. In the second before he pulled the trigger, the air filled with the sound of Robert's voice again, a low, wanting, moan…

…

Eames opened his eyes in a flutter to find his vision filled with thick dark eyelashes curving down to rest _so_ softly on the delicate skin under Robert's eyes. Robert was straddling him, his forehead resting on Eames', his fingers in his hair. Their bedroom was filled with light, their clothes were gone.

Robert didn't open his eyes until Eames slid his hands up pale legs, over narrow hips, slender sides and across ticklish ribs. Milky eyelids slid up to show rapidly shrinking pupils and sky blue eyes, and pink lips stretched into a bright smile.

"Hey, Sunshine," he whispered. Eames slid his hand up over Robert's chest to his neck.

"Found you," Eames sang. He pulled his knees up, rocking Robert forward in his perch on him and lifting up from the pillows to catch his mouth. They rolled. The bite of the needle as it tugged out of his wrist went ignored, as did the leaking somnicin from the still-operating PASIV, because all that mattered was each other.


End file.
